Page 10 of King of Greed

Panic seized my chest. “You honestly think we’ll be happier if we divorce? That I’ll be happier without you? This isus.” The word ripped from my throat, raw and loaded with emotion.“Você e eu. Para sempre.” You and me. Forever.

Alessandra’s quiet sob ripped at my heart. I reached for her, and when she shrank back, the rip turned into a full-blown chasm.

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” The words were barely audible. “Please.”

My hand dropped to my side as the fist squeezed tighter around my lungs. I didn’t know how we got here, but I damn well wasn’t walking away without a fight.

“I fucked up yesterday,” I said. “And I’ve fucked up many more times before that. But I’m still your husband, and you’re still my wife.”

She closed her eyes, her tears now a quiet, steady stream running down her face. “Dom…”

“We’ll work this out.” The thought of living without her was incomprehensible, like asking a heart to stop beating or the stars to give up the night. “I promise.”

We had to.

Maybe I haven’t expressed it as much as I should have, but Alessandra was an indelible part of me. She had been since the moment I laid eyes on her eleven years ago, though I hadn’t known it at the time.

Without her, there was no me.

CHAPTER 7

Dominic

Eleven Years Ago

“I DON’T NEED A BABYSITTER.”

“She’s not a babysitter,” Professor Ehrlich said patiently. “She’s a tutor. One of our best, in fact. She’s worked with multiple students with dyslexia— ”

“I don’t need a tutor either.” The thought of some know-it-all condescending to me every week made me want to crawl out of my skin. I’d made it this far on my own, hadn’t I?

I didn’t have any tutors growing up and my teachers had been mediocre at best, destructive at worst. Yet here I was, sitting in a top economist’s office at the prestigious Thayer University, less than a year away from receiving my double economics and business degree. I could practically taste the money and freedom already.

Professor Ehrlich sighed. He was used to my stubbornness, but something in his tone had my gut tightening with unease.

“You do need one,” he said, his voice gentle. “English literatureand composition is a core requirement. You already failed it once, and it’s only offered in the fall. If you fail it again this semester, you won’t graduate.”

My pulse spiked, but I kept my expression neutral. “I won’t fail. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

I didn’t understand why I had to take English in the first place. I was going into finance, not goddamn publishing. I was acing my economics classes, and that was what really mattered.

“Perhaps, but I’d rather not risk it.” Professor Ehrlich sighed again. “You have a brilliant mind, Dominic. I’ve never met anyone with such a natural gift for numbers, and I’ve been teaching for decades. But talent will only get you so far. A Thayer degree opens doors, but to get it, you need to play by the rules. You want to make it big on Wall Street? You have to graduate first, and you can’t do that if you insist on choosing your pride over your future.”

My knuckles turned white around the armrests.

Maybe it was the fear of losing when I was so close to the finish line, or maybe it was because Professor Ehrlich was the only teacher who’d ever given a damn about me.

Whatever it was, it forced me to swallow my knee-jerk distaste over his suggestion and relent, at least partly, through gritted teeth.

“Fine. I’ll meet with her once,” I said. “But if I don’t like her, I’m not meeting with her again.”

The following Monday, I showed up at Thayer’s main library, ready to get the meeting over with. It was nearly empty this early in the semester, so it shouldn’t take long to find my tutor among the stacks.

Professor Ehrlich had given us each other’s contact information, and she’d left me a voicemail that morning confirming our appointment.

I’ll be on the second floor wearing a yellow dress. See you soon.

She didn’t sound as chirpy as I’d feared. In fact, her voice was oddly soothing. Rich and creamy, with a gentle calm that wouldn’t be out of place in a yoga studio or a therapist’s office.

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